The Final Harvest
by Noldesse
Summary: With the fall of the Dark Lord, Galadriel reaps the rewards of her efforts. Tied first place in ALEC's September themed challenge.


****NOTE/DISCLAIMER: Anything recognizable belongs to Tolkien; the rest is mine. Thanks to my beta phyncke.

**The Final Harvest**

All the preparations were made; the long wooden tables decorated with woven woodland flower garlands. Lanterns hung from the sturdiest tree branches. The food was covered to keep the warmth on this chilly evening, but that did not prevent the aromas from wafting out and tantalizing the gathered Elves. They had been readying the feast for months, carefully planning each detail with painstaking perfection. Tonight, all their labors would pay off. Tonight, the long silence between them and their neighbors would officially come to an end.

The people of both sides had been waiting for this for centuries. The mistrust on Thranduil's behalf regarding the Lady Galadriel caused a schism amongst the Silvan Elves of Mirkwood and the Golden Wood. Instead of allowing for her subjects to live as they had before she had arrived, she infused her Noldorin beliefs into their traditions, so that they were neither Noldor nor Silvan. It was not her methods that bothered Thranduil so much as the fact of her heritage, and the ancient Kin-slaying of the First Age. He did not let a day pass without reminiscing on his birthplace, Doriath, whose ruin was brought about inadvertently by the Lady's Noldorin people. His father instilled in him the drive to remain as far away from refinement as possible, firmly believing that the ruin of Doriath came about from the pride of the Noldor, and their refusal to lead simple lives. And so the lingering hatred from the First Age lived on in Thranduil's heart, causing the separation between the two realms.

While Lórien waned in a golden twilight, Mirkwood slipped into the darkness of Dol Guldur. But Thranduil never requested help from the Lady. He knew she would intervene if necessary, but he refused to allow the opportunity to arise. He did not want to be at the mercy of someone he regarded with deep suspicion at any cost. Over the course of the centuries, Thranduil's suspicious hatred of the White Lady transferred to some of his subjects. They grew fiercely devoted to their King, pledging their lives to his service only. He trained his people to be merciless to their enemies. To the Silvans, the trees of their forest are their life, and so he fed their usually peaceful nature with the fuel of the destruction of his beloved Doriath. When they rode out to fight, Thranduil felt that every slain enemy was avenging his lost home.

The end of the Third Age came with the covering of all of Middle-Earth in Darkness. Both elven realms of Lórien and Mirkwood were attacked. Mirkwood, having borne attacks for centuries, anticipated their enemies' movements. Lórien witnessed three advancements upon itself during the final days of the War of the Ring; yet each attack was successfully fended off by the strong elven warriors of the Golden Wood. When the Shadow was at last defeated, and both realms were able to recover sufficiently, Galadriel and Celeborn met with Thranduil after many an Age in the fortress of Dol Guldur. The Lady then threw down the walls of the accursed fortress, cleansing the land there at long last.

Something changed within Thranduil on that fateful day. He watched the advancement of his self-invented nemesis from afar, noting the way she took everything in around her with careful yet swift glances. Her piercing gray eyes bore through him as she approached with her husband; it was not until she was several feet away that Thranduil noticed her weariness. Her husband guided her firmly yet gently. Thranduil watched her place shaking hands on the walls of the Black Lord's fortress, energy and strength sapped as she sang a song of purification, her voice softening into the language Banned so long ago by Thranduil's own kin, Elu Thingol. He could feel his old hatred return, but as the walls fell with the draining of her vigor, his heart softened as her tears flowed swiftly down her face. He watched her force herself to her feet, saw the pain of her efforts to move cause her to stumble, yet she carried on with her head held high.

It was in that moment that he realized the true significance of her presence as she tore down Dol Guldur: marking the end of Ages' worth of suffering. Sauron was the successor of her people's worst enemy, Morgoth, the first and true enemy of all of Middle-Earth. It was irony, he also realized, that it was a Noldesse who cleansed the end of the Evil from his kingdom, as it was the Noldor who caused the first Dark Lord to come to Middle-Earth. He wondered if she was now ready to sail West and seek the peace and solace of her true home.

It had been several months since that day, yet Thranduil remembered it as if it had just happened. The memory of witnessing Galadriel's inner pain in achieving the goal of cleansing Dol Guldur affected him. He had always thought the Noldor too proud and haughty, and though she appeared as such, Lady Galadriel was not. Thranduil believed she allowed him to witness her in such a state so he would understand the pain and burden of the eons she had to endure. As he sat at the head of the table tonight, fingering his red-berry crown, he surrendered his ancient feud. He had always hoped secretly to bring the Noldor to their knees after all the pain they had caused, yet tonight, he laid his buried hatred and suspicion to rest forever.

But she had sown the seeds of wisdom and patience that spring day as she cleansed Dol Guldur. Patiently she tended her charge, feeding Thranduil's kingdom with gifts and emissaries bearing goodwill, throughout the summer. And now she was coming to reap what she had sown, to prove at long last that the ancient feud was hollow, that now was the time of unification and love. The Lady knew her time in Middle-Earth was drawing to a close, and when she would leave these shores, her people needed someone who would understand their true Silvan ways. She had guided them to overcome the cruelties of the world, but they must restore their own traditions. Thranduil had fostered the Silvans of his realm to retain their identity; he would be the one to care for her people. She knew her message that day of the cleansing had been received.

As she calmly walked towards Thranduil, her faithful Lord leading her by the arm, Thranduil rose to his feet and bowed deeply, taking her hand and placing in it his red-berry crown. In the instant it took for both their eyes to meet, Thranduil communicated his acceptance of her power, and his regret at having regarded her with ill prejudice for many centuries. But the Lady smiled, taking the crown and placing it atop his brow, stating, "All hail Thranduil, lord of the Silvans!"

The time of the harvest had come.


End file.
